


What Makes You Whole

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Burns, Fluff, Injury, Interrupted Sex, M/M, Magical Accidents, Sex Magic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-28
Updated: 2015-04-28
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:11:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3840043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus accidentally burns Iron Bull, and it's way worse than accidentally setting his curtains on fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Makes You Whole

**“** **I'm playing with fire, with something I don't understand.” - L.J. Smith**

Iron Bull usually rose early to train, sometimes with the first light of day, and Dorian usually only protested being moved from his chest or his arm for a moment before he sprawled into the new warm space and went back to sleep, remaining conscious just long enough for the lingering kiss or gentle touch Bull would give him before he left.

This morning, he'd woken to the sight of Bull's morning erection tenting the bedsheets, then blunt fingertips against the small of his back when Bull realised he was awake.

“Morning,” Bull murmured, easing his large form over to kiss the top of Dorian's head, extracting his arm from around him. Dorian had other intentions though, and pulled him back down before he could make much of an attempt to leave the bed.

“Fuck me before you go,” he said as he pulled Bull on top of him, opening his legs for him. He'd never have been able to manhandle the other man into the position if he didn't understand his intention, and let himself be moved so.

“I can't be late again.” Bull rubbed his hard cock along the crease of Dorian's thigh and leaned down to kiss him, even with the slight verbal protest. “Krem'll come looking for me.”

“We'll be quick.” Dorian's voice was a purr as he wrapped his hands under Bull's arms and around his back. “I'm still loose from last night.”

“You'll still need fingers.” Bull reached for the oil, apparently needing very little in the way of convincing. Dorian knew Bull wouldn't be persuaded to skip them even if he thought he could take his cock now, and his fingers were a much more precise instrument, so it was hardly worth complaining.

He started with two oiled fingers rather than the usual one, his body opening up for them. Bull kept himself close, shrinking their focus to the space between them, to the fingers stretching and scissoring and Bull's mouth attentive, placing gentle kisses on Dorian mouth, making him moan softly.

“I'm ready,” Dorian breathed, and Bull slicked his cock with more oil and then pressed the blunt head to Dorian's entrance. “Hurry up, can't be late.”

Bull's deep chuckle reverberated in the space between them as he pushed in, Dorian's pliant channel letting him slide himself in steadily until he was buried, no need to ease back and forth to open him up. It was exquisite.

“You're still so tight.” Bull groaned, grinding his hips against Dorian's backside. “Tight and soft and _hot_.”

Dorian deliberately squeezed around his cock, digging his heels into the backs of his thighs and his fingertips into his back.

“I want a night where we fall asleep with your cock inside me,” he told him in a voice gravelly with sleep and desire, “and to wake up in the morning to feel you get hard inside me, then you can fuck me again.”

Bull groaned into his neck, voice full of affection; “Dirty.” Dorian grinned at the clear effect his voiced fantasy had, as Bull drew his hips back and began to move. It wasn't slow or gentle, just firm and fast enough to have them panting against each other, working towards a quick finish. One of Dorian's hands snaked down his back, along his hip to urge him on, then up the side of his ribs, feeling the solid shape of him.

It was so easy to be swept along with the pleasure, Bull's cock so big, it put a constant pressure on his prostate, each thrust of delicious friction driving him closer and closer. It was almost overwhelming to be filled so full, but Bull never pushed him too far, the pace perfect and steadily getting faster as they got closer and closer. Dorian dug his heels in again and clung more desperately at his side and back, panting hard and letting out little sounds as he felt the inevitable climb beginning.

All at once, Bull let out a frantic yell, and if Dorian's hand hadn't began to smart with pain seconds later, he might have mistaken it for an unexpected release on Bull's part. Instead, the man was still yelling and stiff-bodied as he realised with a heart-stopping sensation that small wisps of smoke were billowing from between his hand and Bull's ribcage.

“Kaffas!” He wrenched his burnt hand away, but the reddened flesh was nothing so bad as the raw skin he'd left behind on Bull in the shape of his hand.

“Koslun's hairy ass!” Bull yelled, pulling out and backing onto his knees as he craned to see the damage, nose wrinkling at the faint smell of his own burnt flesh.

Swearing, Dorian scrambled to his knees as he pulled on the Fade and pressed his palms together, the reddened skin of his burnt hand healing under the green magic that began to thrum through his fingers. He reached for Bull, who was holding his arm awkwardly so he could see the mark on his side, and teeth clenched in pain, but he flinched away from Dorian's touch.

“Bull,” he said, trying for soothing even though his heart was pounding.

“No.” Bull's voice was firm, breathing laboured, and Dorian's hands hung in the air in front of him with the surprise of it. Bull had never flinched from him, never not trusted his magic, especially not the familiar green tone of healing he'd used on his knee and other injuries before.

“Bull, let me help.” He almost wanted to make the words sound like a plea.

Bull's voice was strained. “It's fine.”

“It's not fine, let me heal it.”

“Ugh.” He shut his eye against the pain of shifting his torso. “No. It just needs a poultice. I'll see Stitches.”

Dorian dropped his hands into his lap, letting the primed spell dissipate between his palms. “Alright.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line, and stifled a displeased sound; if Bull didn't want him to touch him, he wouldn't.

“Hey,” Bull said, catching his attention as he pulled his trousers back on. “It's fine, Dorian. Do you want me to finish you off before I go?”

Only then did Dorian realise he had the last vestiges of an erection between his legs, and he shook his head. “No, I've not much desire after that.”

Bull shrugged on his harness, commiserating smile on his face. “I'll see you later.”

Dorian didn't move as Bull left, only watched him carry his boots and brace out of the room quickly. The intimacy had evaporated, and Bull had withdrawn from his touch, then got away from Dorian as fast as he could without making a scene. Dorian also recognised the sudden light airiness of his voice, the insistence that he was fine when he couldn't be, knew it because he'd employed it regularly most of his life.

 

There was something about the juxtaposition of Bull flinching away from his touch and then in the next moment, offering to get him off that had made him feel physically sick; that Bull could suffer a serious, blistering burn at his hands and still offer himself sexually to the person who had inflicted it. Dorian groaned and flopped onto the bed face-first, shouting the worst curses he could think of into the sheets.

This was much worse than setting the curtains ablaze.

He wallowed in feeling miserable for a while, then decided it served no real purpose. If Bull had left in such a rush to be away from him, he didn't want to inflict himself on the man when he returned to his room. He headed across Skyhold, noticing the absence of Bull and his Chargers in the courtyard, and while it wasn't unusual for them to leave Skyhold to train, he couldn't help but think that if he hadn't burned Bull, maybe he'd have stayed close.

The library was his most utilised distraction, where he had piles of research notes to go through, and books to read and reference. It was calming, to have a task to work to, whether it was notes on enchantments for Dagna or translations of coded Venatori documents the scouts had found. By mid morning, he'd stopped his mind wandering back to the events of dawn, caught up in a dusty volume on dwarven rune crafting.

He didn't notice Cullen until he was standing on the opposite side of the table, too distracted to even have registered the tell-tale swish of his collar or the hushed voices of the library assistants whose crush on him was common knowledge.

“Good morning, Commander,” Dorian offered, setting his quill aside. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have those Venatori reports?” Cullen's voice was oddly clipped, his face stern.

“Yes.” Unease crept in as he pulled the papers together, but he forced out a friendly tone as he held them out to the other man. “Busy morning?”

“Not any more than usual,” Cullen said, in that same clipped way. He didn't precisely snatch the papers from Dorian's grasp, but there was something off about his whole demeanour.

“Are you alright, Cullen?”

“Fine,” he said shortly.

“You don't sound fine.” It was a push; they were not close, but friends enough for occasional games of chess.

Cullen looked up from the papers, and the sternness in his face softened, but not into anything much better than guarded concern. “Perhaps this research could wait. I can certainly wait for the follow-up Venatori reports if you wish to go undertake some practice in the tower.”

“Concerned I'm getting rusty, Commander?” Dorian almost laughed at the oddness of Cullen's behaviour. It was unlike him to much care about the business of the mages of Skyhold, beyond keeping an eye on them.

“Are you not concerned?” The sternness was back in his face and his voice, and Dorian bristled at it.

“What are you implying?”

“If you're having difficulty controlling your magic, you should consult Fiona's guidance on how to reduce your risk.”

The inference was clear now, that Cullen knew about what he'd done to Bull, and knew that it hadn't been intentional. Perhaps it wasn't surprising; if the Chargers had left Skyhold to train, Bull was likely to have had words with Cullen before he left.

“Commander, that is none of your concern.”

“It is when you're injuring our soldiers.”

“Bull is not your soldier,” Dorian said, and he was sure he was glaring now.

“I've seen what happens when mages aren't careful,” Cullen insisted. “People get hurt. In some Circles, the punishment for something like this would have been _severe_.”

“Well then,” Dorian bit back, “it's a good thing Circles don't exist any longer, isn't it, Commander?”

“All the more reason for you to train. Mages have a duty to limit the risk they pose to others.”

Dorian's jaw set with the words he wanted to say, but they never reached his throat. After all, he hadn't been careful, and he _had_ hurt the Iron Bull.

“I'll have the next report ready for you in the morning,” Dorian said instead, voice sharp and level. “Good day.”

Cullen took the cue, heaving a heavy sigh as he turned to leave. Dorian resisted the very real urge to turn over his research table. He knew that Cullen wasn't entirely comfortable with magic or mages, but Dorian had long since got used to that from an ex-Templar who had spent much of his life following a calling that required subjugating and brutalising his peers as the very core of it. Despite it all, their relationship had never been difficult before, perhaps because they did not discuss such matters. He thought it would be a long while before they played chess again.

He tried to concentrate on his research for the rest of the day, but he found himself swinging between shamed sadness at having hurt the man who was fast becoming the most important person in his life, and angry indignation at Cullen's commentary.

He been seething for way too long when Solas made an appearance on his level of the library, to collect something from Helisma. Dorian would not have called them friends; their dynamic was much too combative for that, but there were unique and interesting conversations to be had between those who understood magic on a practical level, it was a shame Solas wasn't a little less insufferable. He concentrated on the book he was reading, hoping that Solas would walk on by and ignore him on his way back. Of course, today was not a lucky one.

“It seems you had an eventful morning, if the state of The Iron Bull is anything to go by,” Solas said airily as he stopped by the table, because of course he couldn't help himself, the bald git.

“Jealous, are you?” Dorian snapped, rising to the bait with the haughtiest look he could muster, even if Solas would maintain it had not been his intention to bait him at all. No, the man thought he ought to be able to make such observations with no retort or objection.

Solas raised his eyebrows at him. “Oh yes, I'm green with envy that I'm not in the habit of injuring my sexual partner with careless magic.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes at him, but Solas moved on, clearly satisfied enough having made his judgement clear. Was he going to have to face judgement and commentary from everyone in Skyhold before the day was out? He was already doing a fine enough job hating himself for what had happened, remembering the way Bull had flinched away from him and made a quick exit from his presence.

By the evening, his eyes were tired and he could hardly concentrate, so he gave up his library efforts. He intended to slink back and hide out in his room, but instead found his feet had carried him in another direction. It made sense, really, that Vivenne's favourite reading spot was on a balcony near Skyhold's most beautiful stained glass windows. The view was truly breathtaking; the mountains surrounding them, the impressive keep walls, the mage tower. But it was also far enough away from the ground that the lingering decrepitude of Skyhold could be put out of mind. From this perch, she clearly did not have to think about stray weeds and muddy floors, damp wood and lingering smells. It was certainly no Orlesian palace, no grand Tevinter mansion either, but it had a charm all its own, to Dorian's eyes.

“Dorian,” she greeted from the chair by the open balcony doors, looking up from her book with a fond smile. “You look lovely the evening, darling.”

He tipped his torso in a bow. “Don't I always?” he quipped, as he slid into the other chair. The low murmur of the remaining people at the tables in the grand hall below served as quiet background noise.

He should have known she had a conversation topic in mind when she did not follow up her greeting with commentary on her least liked of his outfits, or her distaste for Tevinter fashion in general.

“I see that our friend the Iron Bull is sporting a rather painful burn on his torso.”

“Indeed.” He sunk a little lower in his chair. Of course she knew.

“Strange, I don't recall him sharing a tale to anyone who would hear it about sustaining the injury in a fight to the death with a Venatori spellcaster. He so does love to boast.”

“He keeps good company with yourself, then.” He was baiting, but Vivienne did not rise, merely turned the page of her book, not looking at him.

“What you two do in the privacy of your rooms or the relative seclusion of the battlements – to which I have a view, I'd remind you – with your own bodies is your business.”

He huffed a tired laugh. “Yes, well, it wasn't a planned event.”

She looked up at him now, and Dorian suddenly felt like he was about to be scolded like a child who had been naughty.

“I'm right to assume this happened during sex?”

He sighed, resigned to everyone in Skyhold having a working knowledge of their sex life. “When else.”

“You're making a habit of this,” she said, and it could have been teasing, but there was no mirth in her voice.

“Curtains are one thing.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “This is...”

“To be expected.”

“Are you speaking from experience now, Madame?”

“Dorian,” she chided, giving him a look somewhere between withering and vaguely amused, “do not ask me questions that I am never going to indulge you in answering. It is to be expected that this happens, now you've found your sexual zenith.”

“My what?” He couldn't help the tired laugh that escaped him with the words.

“Acting the fool does you no credit.” Her tone was stern but with underlying fondness that Cullen's had not had earlier in the day. “It is very clear to anyone with sense that you and the Iron Bull have a significant physical connection, and one assumes that translates into a period of fulfilling sexual experience. You are a passionate man, it cannot really be a surprise than sometimes these incidents of accidental magic occur when your senses are, let's say, overwhelmed.”

Dorian huffed. “That's not the issue.”

“Then what is?”

“I hurt him.”

“So?”

“ _So_?” Dorian echoed. “Losing control and injuring someone like that is not the man I want to be. It's-” he pressed his mouth together, fighting down the rising bile in his throat. “It's unforgivable.”

“The Iron Bull hasn't forgiven you?”

“We haven't spoken on it.”

“Then why in Andraste's name are you here, trying my patience, rather than talking to your paramour?” Vivienne's sternness had now outstripped Cullen's by a clear mile. “You are not a child, Dorian, and I am not your mother, I am not going to instruct you on the basics of civil interaction.”

He hadn't expected Vivienne to indulge his moping, and perhaps that was why he'd ended up on the balcony there. She watched him stand, returning his bow of farewell with a curt nod of her head, and went back to reading.

He didn't much want to inflict himself on Iron Bull, when the events of the morning clearly indicated Bull didn't want to be around him, or touched. But Vivienne was right that he should at least attempt to speak about it, even if it was only to allow Bull to state clearly his anger and his wish for distance, or cessation of their arrangement. The inevitability of it as he walked across Skyhold to Bull's quarters weighed him down with every step. He had never once in his whole life wished he didn't have magic before now. It was a gift, a treasured skill, something that was the very core of his being, and now he was thinking about a life devoid that the singing in his veins as lightning arced out of his fingers and the bitter smell of fire in his nose. He thought perhaps he could live with that absence if he never had to watch Bull flinch away from him and close off again.

Bull was applying some kind of salve to the injury when he called Dorian inside, from the smell of which it contained honey and elfroot at the very least. It looked painful and angry, the skin raw and blistering in a clearly defined burn the shape of his hand. Bull made an uncomfortable sound, the pain playing out on his face as he turned towards Dorian.

“I'm sorry,” Dorian said thickly.

Bull tilted his head. “I know.”

“I'll leave, if you want.”

“I need you to help me,.” Bull gestured at the roll of bandages on the bed. “Stitches wants me to dress it until the blistering is gone.”

Dorian nodded, crossing over to pick up the bandages. Bull held one end near the injury, lifting his arms up so Dorian could wind the bandages around his torso tightly, without looking anywhere but his chest.

“This makes it look a lot worse.” Bull chuckled, and Dorian struggled to swallow with the lump in this throat as he secured the bandage in place.

“I'm sorry,” he said again. “I'll inflict myself on you no longer.”

“Dorian,” Bull reached for him, catching his wrist. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing.” He waved the hand that wasn't being held at the wrist. “I won't trouble you further.”

“You're the exact kind of trouble I like,” Bull said, amusement in his voice.

“You don't want me here.”

Bull sighed, tugging at his wrist until the man had turned to face him again. “Dorian, we've got our ravens mixed up here. Of course I want you here, if you want to be here.”

“You couldn't get away from me fast enough this morning,” Dorian said, with not enough bite and too much of a cracking voice for his own liking.

“Hey, now.” Bull wrapped his hands gently around Dorian's biceps, and waited until Dorian tilted his chin up and met his eyes. “I went to my men. You knew I was trying not to be late when you initiated a good morning fuck.”

“But you wouldn't-” He swallowed, and had to press his lips together for a few seconds to stop his face crumpling. “You wouldn't let me touch you.”

“It fucking hurt,” he said gently. “I can take pain, but I'm not that into it. Not like that, anyway. I'm sorry, Dorian, I didn't realise I made you think I was upset or angry.”

“You should be.” Dorian felt miserable. “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident. I thought you were heating your hand up, didn't realise you weren't doing it on purpose until it hurt.”

“I still burned you so deeply it's going to scar badly; even if I'd been able to use healing magic, it was conjured fire so I might not have been able to negate the damage.”

“Mmm, I know,” Bull murmured, leaning down to kiss Dorian. Confused, Dorian turned his face away before the kiss could land, so Bull would pull back to look at him.

“You're taking this remarkably well.”

“You know I like scars.”

“Yes, you like good ones.” Dorian deflated; this was not a good scar, it was no reminder of battle, only incompetance.

“Why wouldn't I think this is a good one?” Bull laughed gently, waiting again for renewed eye contact when Dorian's eyes went wandering. “I made you feel so good you gave me a brand in the shape of your fucking hand, Dorian. That's hot.”

“It's _what_?”

“It's hot.” He was grinning now, ridiculously pleased for a man with bandages wrapped around his torso. “Everyone's going to see it and everyone's going to know what a powerful fire-throwing mage I'm sharing a bed with.”

“You- you want this?” He gestured vaguely at Bull's side.

“Shit, yeah. I never would have thought of it myself, it's just too perfect. You're perfect. You deserve to be such an impressive scar, an impressive story. When anyone asks, it doesn't matter whether I tell them a hot ass mage marked me while we fucked, or if I say it's between me and the person who did it, they're going to be fucking impressed.”

“I did not expect this,” Dorian admitted. He allowed Bull to wrap his hands around his waist, carefully placing his forearms on Bull's torso instead of around it like he might have, for fear of disturbing the injury.

“Every time I move for the next few weeks, I'm going to remember how good your little hole felt around my cock, and the sounds you were making under me, the way you looked and smelled and tasted, Dorian. Then the scar that comes after is going to remind me every time I think about it.”

“But if it happens again, you may not be as happy.”

Bull shrugged. “If it happens, it happens. It's not like you go up in flames every time I make you scream, I gotta figure it just happens with mages sometimes. I'm not scared of you.”

Dorian's throat felt tight, and he closed his eyes and leaned forward to press his lips against Bull's chest. “You're such pervert,” he said in a small voice, welling with affection for him. The idea that Bull was delighted to be branded was a relief and somehow rather pleasant.

“C'mon now, we should finish what we started this morning.” Bull went for Dorian's buckles, leering at him. “Maybe be a bit gentle while I'm all bandaged up, or Stitches will have my ass. Not in the fun way I let you have my ass, though.”

“I can do gentle,” Dorian said softly instead of saying something entirely more foolish, pushing up onto his tiptoes and meeting Bull for a kiss.

“ **Scars are not injuries. A scar is a healing. After injury, a scar is what makes you whole.” - China Miéville**


End file.
